The writing curls like silver threads
Which bend and knot and tangle-
Fragment into a million shreds
It is with these I wrangle.
The words do not assert themselves
They fade like rings of smoke
A whisper lisps on wisps of wind
From a voice that choked and broke.
It is a world of words that haunts me
I cannot make it mine
I make these crawling scrawlings
But all they do is rhyme.